


it's all very round

by nyxovertop



Category: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Prices, genius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 04:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxovertop/pseuds/nyxovertop
Summary: The tv hisses, fizzes, then dies.Veruca/Mike, if you squint.





	it's all very round

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first mini-story. It's just a test, I'm still getting a feel for the characters, based off the 2005 version. And for the whole pricing of the tv down thing, I used 2005 prices to stay consistent, but I wasn't sure what year the movie is set in. If anyone knows, please leave a comment below! Reviews are appreciated, as always, but not  
> required. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I only wish I did.
> 
> Note: This story has been updated with a few more words, and fancier descriptions. Improvement? I think so.

“It's not _that_ bad.” Charlie says thoughtfully, staring at the tv in front of him. “We can fix this.” 

The tv let’s out a sharp pop, voicing its agreement. It was sleek and black, unremarkable in every way except for the large bowling ball stuck in its center. The screen, cracked around the edges, was flickering like fireworks, the ball reducing the once functional item into a pile of crackling, fizzing parts. 

Across the room, Augustus clambers to his feet. He had been crouching by said tv for the past twenty minutes, but looks up at Charlie’s tone, hands wringing together with worry. 

“You really think so?” He asks, voice snot-filled and pitifully hopeful. Wrongfully so, Mike thinks. The only way a person could fix this mess was by reversing time itself, and Augustus, now wiping his runny nose on the edge of his sweater, was clearly not the guy for that particular task. 

“Sure.” Charlie chirps, grinning at Augustus’s puffy face with horrible optimism. He turns back to the tv. “All we need is a good electrician.” 

“You are totally and completely screwed.” That’s Veruca, hands on her hips and certainty laced into every word, head held high with importance as if she’s assessing the Koh-i-Noor. Mike barks out a laugh from where he’s slouched across the couch.

He can’t help it, Veruca’s comment was the sort of thing Mike lived for, brutally honest and unafraid who gets offended as a result. Finds himself saying, “Nice one,” in reply. There’s a second of silence before Mike realizes exactly what he said, and by then Veruca’s staring down at him with unabashed surprise, green eyes wide. Charlie squints, too, as if Mike complimenting Veruca was the most shocking thing in the world. Which, okay, maybe it was. He didn't do compliments, and Mike sorta wants to punch himself in the mouth right now, not sure where the words came from. He blames Augustus’s couch, lying on it was the most comfortable thing in the world, and it was obviously turning his brain into a pile of mush. 

The tv, as if agreeing once more, whines. Compliment forgotten, Mike swivels his gaze towards its cracked screen, and Augustus gives Veruca an alarming, despairing look, as if she had single handedly sealed the tv’s fate. There’s a moment of silence, where Mike watches Veruca watching the wrecked box, and then Augustus promptly bursts into tears. 

“My parents will kill me!” He moans, dropping onto the couch with a thump, sitting down so fast that Mike barely has enough time to scramble out of the way. Mike curls his lips, annoyed. Sure, it was Augustus's house, but Mike had spent the past ten minutes getting comfortable. He sighs, then pulls himself to a begrudged sitting position. Augustus, unaware of Mike’s antagonism, places his head into his arms, back bowed into a u shaped curve. He looks miserable. 

_Great,_ Mike thinks, only partly sarcastic. Still annoyed at the whole Augustus-stealing-his-spot thing, he props his legs up on the coffee table in front of him, so his boots left muddy tracks onto the table, two stains. Let the kid cry for all Mike cared, and he pinches a stray magazine from the table between two fingers, flipping through it with faux interest. On the other side of the room, Charlie fidgets. His eyes glimmer with some unfounded determination, and he walks over to Augustus, kneeling so he was eye level with the other boy. 

“Augustus,” he says firmly, but kindly, so Mike gets the distinct impression Charlie was trying to be comforting, “Your parents are not going to kill you. We are going to fix this.” 

Charlie takes a small, furtive glance at the tv, which fizzes loudly, then back to Augustus. 

“Remind us, one more time, how this happened?” Charlie asks gently. Mike mimes throwing up. Charlie being nice was the equivalent of a mother's coddling: totally unnecessary, and potentially lethal. The kid has more compassion than he knew what to do with. 

Augustus, however, was rather willing to be comforted. He lifts his head, pulls out a handkerchief from somewhere within his horrid green sweater, and gives a loud honk. Then, in a weepy, accented voice, he explains:

“I was eating my chocolate- 

“Yeah, that clears things up.” Mike quips,

“-and I suddenly ran out. I went to check the pantry, but no chocolate there! I know my mother keeps chocolate on the back shelf,” Augustus points to a wooden shelf directly above the tv with a pudgy finger, “So I go there. But the shelf is too high, and I stand on the couch to get up there. I accidentally knocked over the bowling ball, which fell into tv. And the worst part?” A pause. “There was no more chocolate.” This appeared to be all Augustus could take. His voice cracks, and he starts sobbing all over again. 

Mike rolls his eyes. 

“Knock it off, crybaby.” He snaps, which seems to only make Augustus cry harder. Charlie shoots Mike a glare, opens his mouth as if to retort, and the tv gives a very sudden, loud crack. 

They all jump, but the tv has finished making noises: it sparks once more, and then fades out altogether. Veruca gives it a long, suspicious look, as if she was afraid it would bite her. 

“If this were my house,” she states presumptuously, “Daddy would have fixed this immediately.” She crosses her arms over her chest, looking pointedly at Augustus. He stares back, face blank and streaked with tears, uncomprehending. 

Veruca huffs. “Must I spell it out for you? Just buy a new tv! Or pay to fix this one!” She gives Augustus a ‘duh’ look, as if this was the perfectly obvious solution. 

Augustus nods. 

“You are right.” He says, and Mike rolls his eyes again, because there was one gaping hole in this plan, one neither Augustus or Veruca had thought of yet. But Charlie had.

“I don't mean to be rude, Augustus,” he asks carefully, politely, “but where exactly would you get the money from?” It's the tone Charlie uses when talking about money, or wealth, or even economics. Mike uses it himself, sometimes, but not nearly as much as Charlie does. When Augustus doesn't answer, Charlie continues, “I mean, you don't want your parents to know, right, so we can't use their money. We need to figure out how much everything will cost. The price of the tv, the cost to pay the electrician, then for repairs.” 

At his words, the room falls into silence. Augustus frowns, as if thinking very hard. Veruca looks completely stumped, and Charlie, at least, takes out a piece of paper. He seems intent on doing the math himself, rummages around in his rucksack for what presumably is a pencil. 

“That would cost $4,503.” Mike says, flipping a page of the magazine. Three pairs of eye snaps to his. 

“However, given the cracks to the external screen, I'd say you have a five percent chance of fixing it. Your best bet it to buy a new one, which would cost $10,156.” He pauses, lowering the magazine into his lap, and nods to the tv. “This model was purchased in 2000, right? Given the current market, and inflation, that's… $7,738 if you bought one right now. Give or take a cent.” 

The room is now dead silent, punctuated only by the ticking of the owl-shaped overhead clock, and Veruca, Charlie, and Augustus stare. Mike feels prickly under their gazes, both guarded and uncomfortable hot, sitting on a bed of needles. His defenses snap up instantaneously: Mike lets his expression fall flat and a smirk slide over his face, raising an eyebrow in perfect braggadocio. Because, yeah, he's smart. Smart enough to solve that in his head, to ace his tests without looking through a textbook. And he's used to this, people looking at him when he solves things that fast, judging him, but it feels totally different when it's Veruca. And Charlie. And Augustus. 

In the stretchy, rubber-band silence, Augustus shakes his head. Veruca looks impressed, and Charlie was grinning. 

Mike clears his throat, feeling surprisingly satisfied with this response, as non-verbal as it is. Not that he'll ever admit it, not in a million years. 

“Now,” he concludes, in an attempt to direct the gazes still staring at him elsewhere, “who do we know has lots of cash, and nowhere to put it?” 

He looks pointedly at Veruca. Charlie joins him, and Augustus has finally caught on, turning to Veruca with very round, wide eyes. 

Veruca stares back, eyes narrow and defensive. 

“What?” She snaps. 

-

The following day, the four of them meet at Augustus’s house. The boy opens the door looking considerably happier than when Mike last saw him: eyes bright and grinning. He wore a red sweater this time, still atrocious, and was munching on a large bar of chocolate. He smiles wider when he sees Mike leaning on the doorstep, then Charlie on the step behind him. 

Already familiar with the other boy’s home, Mike let's himself inside. Falls back first onto the couch with a restful sigh, stretching his entire body across its surface. A new tv gleams across from him, identical to the older one, sans the large green bowling ball. 

“What did your parents say?” Mike asks, gesturing towards it. 

Augustus unwraps another chocolate bar. Nothing!” He chirps between mouthfuls. “They did not notice the difference.” 

Veruca knocks a second later, and Augustus quickly lets her in. Mike hears him thanking her, vocally with glee, and listens as the girl shrugs it off. It occurs to Mike, then, that Veruca’s not used to doing nice things, or receiving praise for them. She enters the living room and settles on the edge of the couch, and for a second they all stare, in a trance, at the new shiny tv. 

“So,” Mike says, smirking, “Who wants to go bowling?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for your support. On the off chance you'd like to give it, I prefer suggestions on what to write next. My ideas grow on trees, but only sometimes.


End file.
